


not the new album

by sirfeit



Series: go home, or make a home [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Gen, Masturbation, Mention of torture, Power Imbalance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 19:20:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6766642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirfeit/pseuds/sirfeit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>oneshots taking place during "I'll Be Good".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He slides two water tokens into the shower at 14:30. Everyone’s either on work detail or eating; he’s got the barracks showers to himself. Probably.

God, the steam really does help. He’s got half an hour of hot water, he should use it while he still can.

_He’s pressed up against the wall of the Ark. Miller is holding both of his wrists in one hand, paying no mind to the bruises that had already gathered there. While Harper hits him, Miller whispers low in his ear. “You’re getting off on this, aren’t you, Murphy? That’s why you volunteered for this. You like the pain, you like getting hit like this, when it’s on your terms, when you’ve asked for it.”_

This isn’t going to work. Miller has a boyfriend. He changes his grip.

_Clarke, holding him against the wall of the Ark, enough to hold but not enough to hurt. He leans forward to kiss her, to touch her, maybe even to comfort her, but her hands shift to cause pain instead--_

Clarke wouldn’t do that. She’s too soft. No. It’s not that she’s soft, it’s that she’s full of guilt from other mistakes she’s made and she won’t let him be another one. If he comes back _scarred_ , she’ll feel guiltier.

It’s not helping. He has one last resort.

_Bellamy’s finally gotten annoyed with him being underfoot and has cuffed both of his arms to the ladder of the bunk bed. He’s been in and out of the room for several hours, ignoring Murphy and Murphy’s whining. When he returns, he kneels, hands working at Murphy’s fly._

No. He doesn’t want that.

_When he returns, he grips Murphy’s face in his hands, forces him to look at Bellamy. “Wild thing,” he snarls. “I’d like to cut your hands off, burn you, blind you,” Murphy shudders. Bellamy’s hands travel to his neck, to his still-healing bruises. “I should crush your slender fingers. I could break all the bones in your hand if I closed my own around yours tightly enough.” Murphy struggles against the cuffs: they bruise his wrists, he can’t shake free. “You are as pure and as dangerous as an untamed cat; your beauty makes me sick.” And then he’s kissing Murphy, better than Emori, better than Octavia; he doesn’t taste like the earth, he tastes like sweat and pain, like the things he’s made of --_

There we go. Good timing, too, because the water has just moved on into freezing cold. He steps out of the shower but still runs water over his wrists, hoping to clean them out.

He’s fucked up.

But he’s kind of glad for it.


	2. Chapter 2

Bryan is sitting by the wall with Murphy, watching everyone else finish their fights so they can clean up and go to bed. “He used to call me weak,” he’s saying, and he doesn’t know why he’s saying it, but Bryan is listening, just listening, not speaking. “He used to take me out of my cage and let me try and escape. The first few times, I made a pretty good showing -- but. It got harder.” His voice feels like gravel, coming up his throat. He feels sick. Bryan doesn’t ask anything.

He keeps talking. “Sometimes, after I exhausted myself, he would put me on the table and treat my wounds. Cleaning them out, mostly, I think, to prevent infection. He’d chide me for being weak, for getting my story wrong, for a million other things I couldn’t help because I was _chained in a dungeon_. Then everything would change -- he would pour salt into my cuts, or he’d start up again, with the knife. And -- I was so _tired_ , I couldn’t even do anything about it.” He hears himself give a little breath of a laugh. “Well. I could scream.”

He hadn’t even started struggling until Titus has strapped him down to the table, restraints at his wrists, his legs, his _neck_ \-- God. “After one of those -- sessions -- I was glad to be thrown back in my cage. When I woke up in the box -- I thought I had been buried alive. Until it started moving. I never imagined -- I never imagined I would end up back here, in Camp Jaha.”

“Arkadia,” Bryan corrects gently.

“Arkadia,” he repeats back, giving another breath of laughter. It’s not out of mirth: more like bitterness and -- Whatever. He glances at Bryan. “Sorry for -- talking about it.”

“It’s no problem,” says Bryan. Murphy grips his thermos tighter. Bryan gives him a once-over, like he does when he’s thrown Murphy a little too hard, to assess his injuries. “You wanna head out early? I won’t tell anyone.”

The only people to tell are Miller and Monty, and they’ll notice if he’s shirking work. “No, I --”

Bryan shakes his head, almost smiles. “Go to bed, Murphy.”

It’s an order. Murphy feels warm, but also kind of numb, and he wants -- he wants -- No. Bryan is dating Miller, and Bryan hasn’t -- He clutches at his thermos. “I shouldn’t --”

Bryan’s voice is soft. “Nobody’s gonna blame you for tapping out. It’s been a long day. Go to bed.”

He can’t argue against that twice.

**Author's Note:**

> you've probably already read these


End file.
